Page:Poet Lore, volume 28, 1917.djvu/501



On my monument, amidst laurels and pikes Stranger, on the bed of my last sleep, A sculptor of stone has engraved the sun, And the golden cicala and the peacock Olympic.

I have sung of heroes, of the dead, of epic scenes, Of holy Hellas the impassible awakening, And, with eyes dazzled by rosy remembrance, I have sung your purple walls, O Tropical Gulfs.

And there is my tomb. Peace of the native earth, Perfumes, splendour of the Oriental dream Will not have encircled my exiled remains;

But the austere life is the glorous death. I have clothed my desires in a wingèd armour And have given their soul and their power to the Gods!